Nothing is What it Seems
by Tiny Timb
Summary: Spot Conlon is in jail for murdering his best friend, Jack Kelly. Writer Ben Stanley is sent everywhere looking for clues as to why...but he'll discover not everything is what it seems.
1. Meeting the murderer

He stared into the pair of grey-blue eyes across from him. The shackles around the boy's wrists didn't seem to degrade him as much as they should have. In fact, they seemed to make him even more defiant and proud-looking.

Ben Stanley took out a handmade cigarette and rolled it between his fingers, before putting it to his lips. "You don't mind if I smoke, do you?"

The boy shook his head. "I used to when I was out there. Have at it."

Ben nodded in gratitude and lit the cigarette, letting the steady stream of smoke billow out of his lips. He surveyed the boy again. He didn't look to be much older than 19 years old, maybe 20. Too young to be in jail; too young to have committed the crime that he had two years before. And lucky ol' Ben was going to be the first to tell his story.

He took out a notepad and pencil and sat up. "Are you ready?" The boy stretched out his back. "I've been ready for about two years now. How much paper have you got?" Ben raised a brow. "Plenty. About 4 notepads worth."

The boy smirked at him. "Good, because you'll probably need all of it for what I'm about to tell you. I'm ready if you are."

"Alright…let's start out with your name."

"Conlon. Spot Conlon." Ben looked up curiously. "And no Spot's not my real name, but I don't want to tell you that yet. Writer's always have big mouths, so why would I spill the beans to you right now if I think you can't be trusted?"

Ben shrugged and wrote it down. "Fair enough I guess." He made a mental note not to frustrate the boy in order to get the full story. "How old are you and where are you from?"

Spot rubbed his wrists, wishing that they'd get the stupid metal bonds off of him. Wasn't he a model prisoner? Well, okay, so he got into scuffles with the other men occasionally when they took them off…but was that any reason to judge his next move? "I'm 22. I was born in Shannon, Ireland and came over on a ship in 1889. Next?" Ben glanced up while he wrote. 22? Geez, this boy was small…or should he say man?

He traced over his lettering. Somehow he felt that he was wasting his time with this story, but when he saw that boy's eyes for the first time one year ago, he knew he had something. Perhaps his next best-seller. "What are you in here for?"

"Don't you know that already?"

"Humor me."

Spot took a deep breath and let it out slowly, staring at Ben intensely. "I killed my best friend two years ago."

"Why did you do that? Did he anger you?"

"No."

"Did he betray you somehow?"

"Nah, Jacky-boy wasn't like that."

Ben sighed. "Then I fail to understand why you killed him."

Spot stared down at his hands and smirked to himself. Perhaps it was more of a grim smile. Ben hated the sight of it. It meant that this "Spot" was proud of what he had done.

"Did you know that Jack saved a little girl once?"

Ben snapped back to attention. "What?"

"I asked-.."

"I heard that…but why?"

"Well…" Spot drawled, tracing the tabletop, "If you want some answers…go find Amelia Hart. She'll give you a good insight."

Ben's ears started ringing. An eyewitness? His mind was screaming one thing: FIELD TRIP.

She was a beauty, alright. Dark blonde locks waved around her shoulders as she tended to a small garden outside her window. Her deep blue eyes scanned the area nervously.

So this was Amelia Hart, huh?

"Miss Hart?" Her head snapped up. Ben stood in front of her with a bag slung over his shoulder.

"Yeah…who're you?" Amelia asked suspiciously.

"My name's Ben Stanley, ma'am, and I'm a writer. I'm currently writing about a murderer. You knew one of his victims – Jack Kelly? - I was wondering if I could have a few words with you about him."

Amelia's mouth curled slightly when she realized what was going on. "The man that died a couple of years ago? Yes, I knew him." She hesitated briefly before allowing him to come inside. He nodded his head in gratitude as he stepped inside and looked around. An average home, he thought.

"Would you like something?"

"No, thank you." Ben stated, realizing that she didn't offer it with politeness, but with an air of obligation. "I'd like to get straight to it if that's okay with you."

"The sooner the better." She said, sitting down and offering him a chair.

Ben sat down and took out his notepad. "How did you know Jack Kelly?"

"He saved my life when I was ten years old."

"That was all?"

"What else would there be? He was six years my senior."

Ben shook his head. "I suppose not. I was just asking for facts. Would you tell me what happened then?"

Amelia sighed softly. "I was ten years old, and my step-father wasn't exactly the best role model. In fact…he often offered me up to be a prostitute."

"At 10!"

"Do you want to hear the story or not?"

"Yes, sorry."

"Well…I couldn't stand my step-father's attitude anymore…so I simply ran away." She rubbed her temples, then placed her hands neatly in her lap. "He caught up with me…and didn't take too lightly to me running off on him. You see, I'd also placed a sleeping pill in his water that night. So, he decided to take me into the alley to teach me a lesson. He began beating me viciously…using anything he could. His fists, his feet, the lid of the trash can…anything. I tried to scream…but nothing happened. Just when I thought I was going to die…I saw him. He was like an angel sent just for me." She smiled to herself. "He almost killed my step-father saving me. Anyway…He helped me up and brushed me off. Jack didn't say a word to me…I didn't say a word to him. He simply took me to my home after I'd told him where to go…and I've never seen him again."

Ben was shocked. "Just like that?"

"Just like that. I'm sad that I can't really know him as a person…but I can say he was a wonderful human being who thought little of himself. Perhaps saving me was proving something…" She shrugged. "Nobody can see into his mind. Not then, not now." Amelia said easily, staring at her hands.

"So why do you think his best friend killed him? Jealousy?"

She looked up inquiringly. "His best friend didn't kill him."

"He admitted to the crime. The gun was there, as was the body. All the proof points to his friend."

Amelia leaned closer to him as if to give him a secret. "Let me give you some advice…Nothing is what it seems."


	2. What the Hell?

Ben had to admit; he was confused. How could this Spot character not have killed Jack Kelly? Was he covering for someone else? Yes, that had to be it. Spot Conlon was covering for the real murderer, whoever that may be…

No, Ben suddenly realized, Spot didn't seem like the type of person to cover for someone. Any person capable of conjuring such a grim smile wouldn't help someone in his situation.

"Damn it all." He swore in frustration. He wanted answers…and he wanted them NOW.

Ben walked back into the room and took his seat across from Spot, placing his hands on the table and looking Spot in the eyes. Spot merely grinned at him.

"So…how'd it go?" He asked innocently, turning his attention elsewhere.

"What the hell was that all about?"

Spot glanced up and flashed him another grin. "I take it you met Amelia. Isn't she a sweetheart?"

"No, not really. I repeat-…"

"I know. I don't think she really ever liked me, but she was sweet enough anyway. She thought for the longest time that the mob killed Jack for some reason, and therefore would come after her. I don't think we were ever able to fully convince her otherwise. She's really jittery. Gets annoying after a while." Spot interrupted, leaning back in his chair.

"What did you send me there for?" Ben asked with an air of annoyance.

"You want answers, don't you?"

"Yeah, but-…"

"If you shut up long enough, I'll give you answers." Spot stated with the same tone, emphasized with raised brows.

Ben shut his open mouth with a click of his teeth, and narrowed his eyes slightly. "Fine. Now what about-…"

"Have you ever heard of a man named Kloppman?" Spot interrupted again.

Ben clenched his teeth together for a moment before answering. This boy sure knew how to get on his nerves. "No, I can't say that I have."

"He ran the Manhattan Newsboys Lodging House. That's where Jack lived for most of his life. I went there a lot. Almost anytime I wasn't in Brooklyn I was found there." There was that smile again…only this time he seemed saddened. No, that couldn't be, Ben thought again. This kind of person wasn't capable of feeling.

"What about him?"

"Go ask him about Jack. I think you'll find it useful for that book." Spot said, tapping the notepad lightly before sitting back again.

"Maybe after-…"

"Now. That is if you want this book written. Besides, the man's old. I mean OLD. You never know when old people will keel over." He smirked lightly.

Ben sighed heavily, making sure Spot knew of his annoyance. Finding no other alternative, he got up and made towards the door.

"Before you go…"

"What?" Ben asked turning around.

"Can I borrow a cigarette and a match?"

Ben rolled his eyes lightly, though the randomness of the question struck him as amusing. He walked back over and handed Spot one of each before leaving, closing the door softly behind him.

Spot thought he was in heaven. Two years without a cigarette can do weird things to a person. He inhaled with closed eyes, and then exhaled, allowing the smoke to stream slowly out of his parted lips.

Spot opened his eyes, and then stared slightly at the burning tip as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world. "You're gonna thank me, Jack. I know you will." He muttered, before inhaling once more.

Well, Ben thought as he stared back at the man, Spot was right about one thing. This man was OLD.

"What can I do for you?" Kloppman asked, his eyes surveying Ben with great caution. Was this the new warden the boys were talking about lately?

"Are you Kloppman?"

"Yes. What can I do for you?" He asked again.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, but I'm here to ask you about Jack Kelly. Do you have a few minutes?" Ben asked politely.

"Jack Kelly? I've never heard of him-…" He stopped, realizing what he'd done. He chuckled bitterly. "I keep forgetting that I don't have to protect him anymore. That boy sure got into a lot of trouble. It was up to me to protect my boys…they were all like my sons. They still are."

"I'm sorry for your loss."

"Well you had nothing to do with it, so why should you be sorry?" Kloppman asked, leading Ben into his room. He gestured to a chair once he'd sat down himself.

Ben sat down and tried to make himself comfortable in the lumpy chair. He glanced around at the new environment, seeing that the old man really had thought of each of the boys as his sons. There were pictures of them everywhere.

"Now what is this you wanted?" Kloppman's sudden statement brought Ben back to reality.

"Oh…I wanted to know what you thought of the boy that was killed two years ago. I'm a writer, you see, and his killer is telling his story for the first time." And he's sending me all over God's green earth to find it, Ben thought bitterly.

"Spot always was real into himself." Kloppman said with amusement present in his voice. "He never much thought of anyone else…but he was a good kid anyway…now Jack…" he shook his head. "Jack was like the great protector of all the newsies in this lodging house. If someone didn't show up on time, he went looking for them. If someone was hurt, he'd go to the source of the problem and fix it. He was a good kid, too. Then again, he was selfish in the aspect of his dreams."

"How was that?"

"If something prevented him from fulfilling his dream, he resented them. Well, not resent, maybe. But he would sulk over it for the longest time. A week at most. He always saw it as a weakness." Kloppman said sadly. "He hated that part of himself. Jack, I suppose, thought he was a bad person for wanting to go to Santa Fe. That's why he came back when he did. He felt guilty for leaving all of his friends like that."

Ben scribbled it all down furiously. So fast in fact, that Kloppman wondered how the paper didn't rip into shreds, or worse, catch fire.

"So why do YOU think Spot killed him? Do you think he resented Jack for thinking selfishly?" Ben asked.

"You say that like it was all a bad thing."

"Well, I tend to think murdering your best friend is a bad thing, sir." Ben stated.

Kloppman clicked his tongue. "You're missing the big picture. Spot didn't just kill him. He wasn't like that. Jack and Spot were best friends for crying out loud. Spot didn't just kill all of his best friends. That's insanity, that is."

Ben sighed. "Then what happened?"

"You're the writer, not me. You figure it out. Now if you'll excuse me," Kloppman said, standing slowly, his joints popping, "I have newsies to tend to." He said over the growing amount of noise in the lodging house.

Ben leaned back in the chair once the old man had left. He felt as if the entire world had gone mad.


	3. Turn of Events

"Are you really as crazy as you seem to be?" Spot looked up at Ben's random question. He raised a brow.

"Do I really look all that crazy?" He asked, cocking his head to one side almost tauntingly. "What's the matter, Ben? Frustrated? I can call you Ben, can't I?" His amusement was evident in his voice as he stared into Ben's eyes. Ben didn't like it one bit.

"I don't care, and yes, to tell you the truth I am frustrated. When I took on this story, I didn't think I'd become Daniel Boone."

Spot gave him a blank stare. "Who?"

Ben sighed. "Nevermind. Why the hell am I running all over the state for answers? Why can't you just answer me yourself?" He asked, pulling out his notebooks. He had to admit though; he'd never expected his notebooks to be that full already.

Spot leaned across the table and motioned for Ben to do the same, as if he was telling him a big secret. "If I told you everything right out, you wouldn't understand it. Not many people do. Besides, our time together would be cut short. We don't want that, now, do we?" Spot leaned back into his chair with a smirk across his face. "How many people would buy a story that's only two pages long?"

Ben rolled his eyes and sat back in his chair, blowing a stray hair out of his eyes. Focusing on Spot again, he set his jaw. Damnit, this was a good story, and if it sent him to the Himalayas (God forbid), he'd go. "Alright, alright, I get the picture. Can we continue please?" he asked, tapping the notebook with his pen before scribbling down the date and time.

"Aye, aye, Cap'm." Spot saluted him with a clink of handcuffs.

"What was that all about?"

"They make us read dull books. I happen to have read a pirate book recently." Spot defended, crossing his arms. "Don't you have a question to ask?"

Ben held up his hands, and then adjusted himself in the chair. "Alright…were you jealous of Jack Kelly?"

"What? What the hell kind of question is that!" Spot shouted, outraged. "Why the hell would I be jealous of Jack? Was HE the leader of Brooklyn? Was HE as good-looking as me?" he fumed. Ben gave a small smile, knowing he'd gotten what he'd wanted. Spot sighed and sat back in his chair again. "Yeah…I guess I was kind of jealous of him. I mean, how can a guy as messed up as he was get a girl like Tanya?"

"Who was Tanya?"

"Tanya was his wife. Well, she was going to be anyway. Until…"

"Until you killed him." Spot narrowed his eyes warningly at Ben until he backed off.

"For your information, no, not then. They parted ways a year before Jack died."

Ben looked up and shrugged. "Where can I find her?"

Spot's smirk came back to play as he shook his head. "Duanesbrook." Ben scribbled it down, then stopped in the middle of the word and looked up at Spot.

"Duanesbrook? But isn't that a-…"

"A cemetery? Yeah…Tanya committed suicide a year before Jack died." Spot grinned at Ben as he sat back down. "I forgot to mention that, didn't I?"

"Only slightly." Ben massaged his temples and looked Spot in the eyes. "Now where do you want me to go?"

"Tanya had an older sister, Sonja. Sonja can tell you almost everything you need to know about Jack that I can't tell you." Spot said, fiddling with his handcuffs. Damnit all, why had they still not taken them off? He was being a good boy…

"Whoa, wait. Sonja can tell me about Jack? Why would Sonja know anything about Jack?"

Spot glanced up at Ben. "Because Sonja's the one Tanya caught Jack with the night she killed herself."

She was a dainty little thing, that was for sure, Ben thought as he entered her home. She was also very wealthy. The home alone looked close to a smaller version of Pulitzer's mansion. The housekeeper didn't look too friendly though.

After glancing around a bit, Ben's eyes fell back upon his host. "I appreciate your allowing me inside your home, Mrs. Landers."

Sonja waved off the polite comment with her hand as if swatting a fly and gestured to a seat. Her long auburn hair was swept up into a graceful bun, her gold eyes jovial as she observed her guest. Ben mentally shook his head. So Tanya killed herself over her sister? No wonder…poor girl thought she probably didn't have a chance. Her sister was beautiful.

"I came to speak to you about-…"

"I know what you're here for, and I must say, it took you long enough. I've heard about you talking to Spot Conlon, the great leader of Brooklyn. None of us ever thought he'd add 'inmate' to his list of adjectives about himself, let me tell you." She rambled, pouring herself a cup of tea. "Would you like some?"

"No thank you..." Ah, geez, Ben thought, she's a talker. This was going to be fun.

"So, Mrs. Landers- …"

"Sonja, please."

"_Sonja…_were you a newsie yourself?" Ben asked, his notepad on his lap.

"Of course, how else would I have met Jack and the others? I mean it's not like people on the street talk to each other randomly anymore." She stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Sorry…it's just that you don't…_talk _like the others. That's all." Ben muttered, mostly to himself as he wrote.

"That's because I was also going to school at the time. I always walked my sister to and from school back home, and then I would go buy the evening edition of the papers and sell until it was time for bed. Sometimes I would skip the selling altogether to hang out with the others by the bridge or back at their lodging house."

"When did Tanya meet Jack?"

"Hmm…it was about a year before, well, her accident." Sonja said quietly. "She seemed to love him so much…but I didn't think of that at the time."

"Were YOU in love with Jack?"

Sonja looked up, startled by the question. "I…I suppose…yes. Yes I was."

"When did you first start seeing him?"

"A month before Tanya died." Sonja said sadly, staring into her cooling tea. She traced the rim of the cup as she spoke. "It isn't what you're thinking. He didn't mean to cheat on my sister…and I didn't mean to betray her like that. I don't normally do those things…"

"Then why did you?" Ben asked. "Did Jack want to get back at Tanya for something? Or was this just a spur of the moment thing?"

"It was nothing like that!" Sonja said quickly, nearly spilling her tea. "Tanya wouldn't hurt anybody! Not on purpose, and for that matter neither would Jack. It's just that…well…he and I shared something." She looked wistful; as if she truly missed him. Ben pitied her. He at least got to go home to his lover. Hers was buried six feet under.

"Were you two really in love?" Ben asked quietly. Sonja slowly nodded.

"He said he had to break up with Tanya. No matter how much it would hurt her, he knew that being with both of us would be worse. She really loved him, and she was a sweet girl…

"He was going to say he was leaving. Jack WAS leaving. In fact, two days before Tanya died, he told me he was going to leave for Santa Fe, and he was going to take me with him. So he wouldn't have lied to her…" Sonja sighed, setting down the cup and rubbing her temples. "That was the night she caught Jack holding me. That was all…nothing else. But she knew. Tanya was smart like that."

Ben nodded as he wrote everything down. "Spot keeps saying that Jack was…well in small terms 'messed up'. Do you think he was having problems?"

"Oh definitely." Sonja said with a nod, regaining her composure. "He wanted so much, and struggled with himself because he knew he couldn't get it. He often borrowed money from people later on, and kept forgetting to pay them back. He had so many debts.

"He decided at one point that his friend Racetrack could help him out. You ever heard of him?"

"Anthony 'Racetrack' Higgins?"

"That's the one. He told Jack that he himself had solved all of his problems by gambling." Sonja snorted her disgust. "Jack thought that the same approach would work for him. He kept saying, 'One more time, Sonja. One more time and then we're out.'"

"But you weren't, were you? You never left for Santa Fe, and neither did he." Ben shook his head and looked up from his writing at her. Sonja fiddled with her saucer.

"We were actually going to leave about a year after Tanya died. I was actually waiting for him at the train station when I received word that he'd been killed."

"What happened then?" Ben asked.

Sonja made another disgusted sound. "What didn't happen? I was out of work, I didn't have a home, my fiancée had been killed…

"But one day, I received a large amount of money via a lawyer. It was like a gift from God himself. I was able to get back up on my feet. I got an apartment, I got another job, and within four weeks, I'd met Harold, my husband." Sonja said, sipping at her tea. She must have realized that it was cold, because she made a face and set it right back down.

"Where did that money come from?"

"I never found out. I don't think I've ever really thought about the possibilities, because that same week I had to clean out Jack's office at The New York Sun." Sonja said with a one-shouldered shrug.

Ben nodded. "Thank you very much for having me, Mrs. Landers." He said as he stood. Sonja grasped his hand as he was shown out.

"I hope you've found what you're looking for." She said as she waved and returned to the novel she had been reading when he first walked in.

"I have." Ben muttered to himself as he walked along the road. "Another possible motive for killing Jack Kelly…and perhaps the person Spot Conlon was covering for."


End file.
